Of all our feelings the only one which really doesn't belong to us is hope. Hope belongs to life, it's life itself defending itself. Etcetera.

I can't think of another writer who can move me as surreptitiously as Vian does

Only in dreams, in poetry, in play do we sometimes arrive at what we were before we were this thing that, who knows, we are.

What good is a writer if he can't destroy literature? And us... what good are we if we don't help as much as we can in that destruction?

One of the many ways of contesting level-zero, and one of the best, is to take photographs, an activity in which one should start becoming adept very early in life, teach it to children since it requires discipline, aesthetic education, a good eye and steady fingers.

Come sleep with me: We won't make Love,Love will make us.

Human history is the sad result of each one looking out for himself.